Last Updated on May 29, 2026 by admin
Greta is taking new questions. She has opinions.
For those just joining: Greta is twelve. She is a long-haired tortoiseshell with a white throat patch and one slightly off-center whisker. She lives on the third floor of a triple-decker in Brookline, Massachusetts, with her person Estela, two paint flakes she has been monitoring for nine months, and an extremely active expectation of cat-related expertise. She runs an advice column. The first installment, last week, addressed the perennial question of why cats knock things off counters. (Short answer, per Greta: they knock things off because they are obligated to.) The mail, since then, has been considerable.
Below: three reader letters. Greta’s replies are reproduced verbatim with only minor edits for typography.
Letter One. From Vanessa W. in Cleveland Heights, Ohio:
Dear Greta: My cat brings me a different sock every morning at exactly 5:12 a.m. He drops the sock on my pillow next to my face. The socks are not always mine. I do not know where some of them come from. Is this an offering, or an audit?
Greta replies:
It is an audit. The socks are evidence.
Your cat has identified, in the household and possibly the apartment below yours, a sock irregularity. The sock irregularity is unacceptable. It is, in particular, unacceptable that not all the socks have been brought to a centralized location for verification. He is doing the verifying. He is bringing each sock, one at a time, to your face at 5:12 a.m., which is the appropriate time for the day’s audit findings to be reviewed, because that is the time at which the previous night’s auditing concluded and the new day’s auditing has not yet commenced.
The pillow is the inbox. You are the recipient of the audit findings.
The fact that some socks are not yours indicates that the irregularity extends beyond your unit. This is concerning. Please understand the seriousness of what your cat is reporting. There is a sock problem in your building. Your cat has personally undertaken the resolution of this problem. He is not asking for thanks. He is asking only that you acknowledge receipt.
Pet him. Say received. Place the socks in a single visible pile. The audit will continue until the situation is brought under control.
Letter Two. From Marcus L. in Asheville, North Carolina:
Dear Greta: My senior cat (sixteen, tortoiseshell — her name is Persimmon) watches me eat dinner every night and then, when I am finished, sighs. It is a long, full-body sigh. She does not look away. She does not ask for food. She just sighs. Has she been keeping notes?
Greta replies:
Yes. Persimmon has been keeping notes since 2009.
The notes are detailed. They include observations on portion control, on chewing pace, on the appropriateness of utensils, on the appropriateness of the chair, and on the long-term trajectory of your dietary decisions. The notes have, over the intervening sixteen years, accumulated into what I can only describe as a comprehensive performance review.
The sigh is the executive summary.
You are not in trouble. The sigh is not a reprimand. The sigh is simply the verbal indication that the day’s observations have been logged and that the file remains, as ever, open. Persimmon will continue to gather data. She will continue to sigh. Over time, she may, on certain occasions, sigh a second time. This indicates a notable evening — either an exemplary one or a particularly concerning one. You will know which.
The kindest thing you can do, after the sigh, is to acknowledge it. A small nod will suffice. Persimmon does not require validation. She requires only the knowledge that her work is seen.
Continue eating your dinner. Continue sighing back, occasionally. She will, in time, come to understand that you are also keeping notes. This will improve the working relationship.
Letter Three. From Antonia R. in Albuquerque, New Mexico:
Dear Greta: My cat blocks the hallway doorway every night between 9:00 and 9:18 p.m. He sits exactly in the doorway. He does not move. If I step over him, he follows me and then returns to the doorway. What kind of toll is being charged?
Greta replies:
This is the evening tariff. It is standard.
The evening tariff is collected between 9:00 and 9:18 p.m. in most jurisdictions, with minor regional variations. (In coastal New England, the window is 8:45 to 9:03. In the Pacific Northwest, 9:30 to 9:51. In Albuquerque, you are within the standard window.)
The tariff is not, as is sometimes misunderstood, a payment in food or treats. The tariff is paid in attention. Specifically: thirty seconds of focused, undivided, eye-contact-included acknowledgment.
To pay the tariff: kneel or crouch. Say your cat’s name in a calm, slightly elongated tone. Pet from the crown of the head to the base of the spine in one full stroke. Do this three times. On the third stroke, pause at the base of the spine and say, in a normal voice: I see you. That is the password. The doorway will open.
If you do not pay the tariff, the doorway remains closed for the duration of the window. You may, of course, step over the cat. This will not collect the tariff. The cat will follow you and reestablish the toll booth. The tariff will be collected eventually. It is simply a question of when.
Most households find the tariff easier to pay on time.
Greta thanks her correspondents. She will be taking more questions next week. In the meantime, she is monitoring the paint flakes, which have not moved — this is suspicious, and she is filing a report.
If you have a question for Greta, leave it in the comments. She will answer the ones that pertain to her field of expertise, which is broad.